


Bodies

by derryderrydown



Series: Spike Does The Sex Pistols [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sex Pistols (Band)
Genre: M/M, very old story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryderrydown/pseuds/derryderrydown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bodies

Spike toppled over the back of the battered armchair to sprawl comfortably on the seat, gazing up at his jean-clad legs. After a moment, he laughed, shut his eyes and let his head drop back so the tip of his hair brushed the dusty floor. "Good show," he commented. Despite the fact that Sid had been followed off stage by screams of loathing, he wasn't being sarcastic.

"Audience were cunts." Sid's voice was distracted and Spike opened his eyes to find out why. It took a moment to translate the upside-down view and once he had, Spike let his eyes slide shut. If Sid wanted to shoot up, let him. It'd give the blood an interesting flavour when Spike ate him.

Which was, of course, the reason for bringing him to this seedy little hotel, where rooms were rented by the hour. If Sid was thick enough to believe that Spike was a devoted fan who wanted to share some particularly fine smack, it simply proved Spike's belief that man was too stupid and too crap a bassist to be allowed to live. The Pistols needed Glen back and quickly.

Spike idly hummed to himself as he waited for Sid to finish. The dealer earlier had had an interesting flavour, actually. Kind of reminiscent of Woodstock but slightly more chemica... Oh. Yeah. The guy had probably been sampling his own merchandise. Which meant Spike was set for a toned-down version of what Sid was having.

He really ought to remember to save the interesting ones for when he had time to enjoy the aftermath. He was either going to have to eat Sid now or wait for the effects to wear off.

His musing was disrupted by a soft thud. Probably Sid falling off the bed. Spike opened his eyes for a moment to confirm and found Sid sprawled on his back on the floor, a long, lanky figure still topless from stage. He lay with one arm flung out and the other rested across his stomach. Sid appeared unaware of his change in position and Spike went back to examining the insides of his eyelids.

"Good shit," Sid mumbled.

"Told you it was."

"Yeah."

Spike opened his eyes again, confused by the brush of breath on his face, to find that Sid had somehow moved closer without him hearing it. The bassist was propped on one elbow, staring intently at Spike.

"What?"

Sid didn't reply and his eyes were vacant as he leaned forward to press his lips against Spike's. The vampire frowned slightly at the pressure and then, after a moment, opened his mouth and let Sid deepen the kiss.

There had _definitely_ been something in that dealer's blood, Spike decided as he slipped further down the chair so his shoulders rested on the floor and his head was forced forward at an uncomfortable angle. Surrendering to the inevitable, he slithered the rest of the way to the floor. Sid's mouth didn't leave his during the journey.

Taking advantage of the new position, Sid's kisses deepened, became more possessive and thorough as he used his weight to press Spike against the floor. Spike let his eyes slide shut and relaxed into the pressure.

Sid's hand moved up to rest on Spike's chest, playing with one of the safety pins that fastened the rips in his t-shirt. Briefly, Sid passed his hand over Spike's nipple but then his caresses moved up until he held Spike's throat and Spike found he was shifting - just slightly - to increase the pressure of the grip, to let the heavy chain and padlock around his neck be pressed hard into his skin.

His eyes flickered open and he tried to focus on more than the moment but Sid's hair was flickering between him and the dim glare of the unshaded lightbulb, creating a strobe that left Spike unbalanced and out of touch. All he could hear was Sid (the faintly liquid noises from his kiss, the slight rasp of his breathing); all he could smell was Sid (cigarettes and sweat and vaseline in his hair); all he could taste was Sid (more cigarettes and vodka and the acrid tang of long-gone vomit); and all he could feel... Oh god, all he could feel was Sid - the hand gripping his throat; the warm boniness of Sid's body against his; the damp breath against his face. Even the cold lino of the floor, hard against his back, was somehow part of Sid.

And then Sid was sliding on top of him, gaunt bones and metal studs grating; padlock and chain tangling with Spike's own.

Spike was left gasping as Sid finally broke the kiss to slide his mouth down to the curve where neck met shoulder, the tickle of lips and teeth growing stronger until the pressure of a sudden bite was enough to make him swear.

Sid made a move to draw back but Spike's hand was on the back of his head before he could go anywhere. Sid seemed content to comply with the unspoken order as his mouth crept downwards with excruciating slowness to the dip at the base of Spike's throat.

Spike swallowed hard against the tendrils of sensation being teased through his body. Now Sid was moving upwards, still so very slowly, covering every millimetre of skin along the way, until he was nipping at the soft flesh under Spike's jaw.

Spike shifted, trying to ease the tightness of his growing erection and semi-deliberately bringing it against Sid's.

Sid shot upright and Spike's hand was instantly on the padlock round his neck. "Second thoughts?" he whispered.

Sid stared at him with blank eyes and Spike found Pretty Vacant was playing in his mind. Sid's only answer was to press harder against Spike's groin and the vampire grinned. He let go of the padlock and instead rested his hands around Sid's throat, his grip sure but gentle as he absently caressed the sharp jawline with his thumbs.

Sid's eyes rolled upwards as his eyelids slid shut and his head dropped backwards. He leaned forward, his weight on his arms, as he ground slowly against Spike, showing a surer sense of rhythm than he had on stage.

Spike couldn't help himself. His grip on Sid's throat tightened and he began to push against him, meeting the bassist's pattern and enveloping it in his own.

Sid opened his eyes and stared at Spike and, for the first time, his face held a semblance of emotion. Hurt. His gaze flickered to the side and focused on the floor and, though he carried on moving, he lost the rhythm he'd had.

With a muttered curse, Spike slammed his arms down to his sides. "Happy?" he demanded.

Sid's smile was knowing as he slithered down Spike's body and his mouth fastened over one of the safety pins on Spike's t-shirt. His tongue stole under the worn fabric to tease at Spike's flesh, sending shivers coursing through him.

 

Spike lifted his head to stare at what Sid was doing but when Sid met his gaze, he shook his head. His fingers were gentle as they brushed Spike's eyelids closed.

 

With a deep breath, Spike let his head fall back and forced himself to relax.

 

Sid's mouth was warm on his chest, saliva soaking through the thin fabric of the t-shirt, leaving a sharp chill when Sid finally moved away to play with the safety pins over Spike's stomach. His tongue lapped around the metal, giving teasing, tentative brushes to the flesh beneath, while the cooling tickle of his breath rose goosebumps.

 

Then the mouth was gone and it was all Spike could to to keep his eyes shut. After an eternity, he felt Sid's calloused fingers unfastening first one safety pin and then the other, letting the rip drop open to expose a surprisingly chaste dart of skin.

 

Sid's fingers stroked Spike's skin with gentle curiosity, the callouses catching occasionally to send ripples of sensation. By the time he stopped, Spike was left almost squirming with anticipation, gasping for breath he didn't need.

 

When the chill metal sliced his skin, he shot upright.

 

"What the fuck!"

 

Sid still straddled Spike's legs, a look of lazy sensuality on his face as he caressed the cut-throat razor. His expression didn't change as he reached out to run his finger along the cut and it was only when he licked blood from his finger that the look transmuted to languorous ecstasy.

 

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered. "Humans are getting weirder." Admittedly, even among vampires it wasn't considered normal to get such a strong sexual kick from seeing somebody drinking your blood but...

 

Half-hypnotised by the sight, Spike gave in to the gentle pressure on his shoulder and lay back. Now Sid leaned forward to run his tongue along the cut, drinking straight from the wound as Spike's stomach muscles tightened, anticipation seasoned by nerves. Once or twice, Sid moved upwards to kiss Spike and the vampire savoured the taste of his own blood in the other man's mouth.

 

Eventually, Sid sat upright and, unsmiling, studied Spike's face. Then, without warning, the razor was buried deep in his own forearm and blood was running down to Spike's jeans. Sid gazed entranced at the growing pool for a long moment before sliding the razor out and, with a single, jerky movement, holding his arm high above Spike's face.

 

The blood spattered over Spike and he fought hard to keep his human face as the warm, metallic scent invaded his senses. It took a moment to adjust to the roiling temptation, to deal with it without focusing on it, and then he opened his mouth.

 

Responding to the unspoken request, Sid positioned his arm to let blood dribble into Spike's mouth. The droplets hit Spike's senses like hailstones, stinging more of a reaction than the river of blood he had drained from the dealer earlier. Unconsciously, he lifted his head, straining to reach the source, and when Sid brought his arm within reach, Spike's mouth closed on the wound with ferocious rapacity.

 

Where Sid had sipped at Spike's injury, Spike guzzled, worrying at the wound to increase the blood flow. When Sid made as if to move his arm away, Spike's hands shot up and held Sid in place with implacable firmness. He paid no attention as Sid dropped down to sprawl over Spike's body in a careless invitation. Sid's mouth teasing at his throat was just another sensation in the maelstrom.

 

It was the only the whispered, ecstatic "Yes!" as Sid rested his head on Spike's chest that broke his absorption. Startled, he stopped sucking but his mouth remained on the wound. There was a moan of disappointment from Sid and he ground his groin against Spike's thigh.

 

Spike lay still, breathing in the mingled aromas of blood and arousal, his own mixed irretrievably with Sid's. Experimentally, he lifted his thigh and, with an unintelligible mumble, Sid pressed harder against it. Spike moved Sid's arm a fraction away from his mouth. "Like that?" he asked softly.

 

Sid lifted his head and stared at Spike with eyes that shone unnaturally bright in his pallid face. Slowly his eyes slid shut and his lips curled in a deceptively innocent smile. He settled his head back on Spike's chest and pushed into the hard muscles of Spike's thigh.

 

His movements quickened, losing their lazy grace to become jerky and frantic. One hand clung to the handle of the razor and the other clutched weakly at Spike's shoulder as his breath tore through him, shaking his skeletal frame.

 

Ignoring the razor blade wavering by his ear, Spike gently ran one sharp fingernail up and down Sid's back, leaving countless narrow slashes. Then, as Sid tensed and shuddered into orgasm, Spike dug his nails deep into flesh and Sid heaved up into the pain.

 

With a deep sigh, Sid relaxed, his weight heavy and sated against Spike and exacerbating the tightness of Spike's groin. "Alright for you," Spike muttered, trying to arrange the other man's weight so he could find some release. Sid remained stubbornly, if passively, unhelpful as his head rolled from Spike's chest to hit the floor with an audible crack.

 

Irritated and frustrated, Spike wriggled out from underneath Sid and pulled himself to his feet. "Oi." He nudged Sid with his foot and got about the same response as from a ragdoll filled with sand. He sighed. "Fucking great."

 

Spike had only taken one step towards the door when a hand closed around his leg. He looked down to find Sid grinning up at him. Spike studied the sprawled figure for a moment, then one side of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. "Bed."

 

Sid made no move, so Spike heaved him up and dumped him on the sordid-looking single bed to lie on top of rumpled, filthy sheets. Sid wriggled on to his back, still clutching the razor, and stretched out. Every rib was clearly delineated beneath bruised skin, starkly decorated with drying blood. Black jeans clung to emaciated hips with a thick, studded belt and hanging chains emphasising their state. His arms, stretched above his head, were covered with livid track marks and a studded leather cuff circled one gaunt wrist.

 

Spike took a cigarette from his coat's pocket and lit it. "You're a fucking mess, you know?"

 

Sid's only answer was to grasp Spike's belt and tug him down on to the bed. Spike didn't put up a fight as he was arranged on his back. With disarming speed, Sid's hand, still holding the razor, was pressing at Spike's groin and the vampire gulped, his eyes wide. "Take the sodding blade _away_ from there!"

 

If Sid heard, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he wriggled to sit upright, straddled across Spike's thighs. For a long moment, he simply sat there, studying Spike's body.

 

Finally, he reached out with his injured arm and trailed one finger down the longest rip on Spike's t-shirt, running from the left point of his collarbone to the right-hand base of his ribs and held together with six safety pins. He fumbled at the lowest safety pin but, clumsy from the wound and the blood coating his hand, couldn't get a grip.

 

Frowning, Sid left the razor balanced at Spike's groin and devoted both hands to unfastening the safety pins with studied concentration. By the time he was finished, the t-shirt was hanging open, exposing a broad swathe of pale flesh.

 

Spike shut his eyes and let his head press deeper into the stinking pillow. Listening to Sid picking up the razor, he knew what was coming next.

 

Except the pressure of the blade was little more than a caress, leaving only a scratch behind. Spike waited, tensed for more, but all that followed was the warm pressure of Sid's tongue, lapping a soothing caress against the red line.

 

Then the mouth was gone and still Spike waited, the cigarette burning forgotten in his fingers. "Get a fucking move on," he finally muttered.

 

Sid chuckled, a surprisingly warm, deep sound. Then the razor was ghosting over Spike's skin, a metal caress that left him unharmed but trembling.

 

"Just _cut_ something!"

 

Spike hadn't finished speaking when he felt his t-shirt lifted away from his skin. He opened his eyes in time to see Sid run a single, long slash through the cotton, without touching Spike's flesh. The t-shirt dropped open and Sid smiled. "Nice," he whispered, leaning forward to press his lips against Spike's. His hands rested on Spike's wrists, his fingers tracing delicate patterns across the smooth skin, and when he sat up again, he was holding Spike's cigarette in his left hand.

 

He took a long drag and, still holding the smoke, pressed the cigarette against the inside of his right elbow. Now the smoke escaped in a drawn-out hiss of pleasure and Spike watched entranced as Sid kept the cigarette in place.

 

When he eventually moved it away, it had almost been stubbed out and it took several hard puffs to get it burning again. He didn't seem to notice that he was scattering ash over Spike's chest and Spike was barely aware of the needle-sharp tickle himself, caught up in the approaching menace as Sid leaned towards him, razor in one hand, cigarette in the other.

 

But all Sid did was close his mouth over Spike's and blow a long stream of smoke from his lungs into Spike's. Spike breathed the smoke in automatically and held it before blowing it back into Sid's lungs in a disturbingly intimate exchange. Sid's response was to blow the smoke out of his nose as he sat back.

 

He absently traced the cigarette over Spike's collarbone, so lightly that the touch of the ember was more caress than torture. He took another pull of the cigarette before moving it towards Spike's cheekbone.

 

Spike's hand was on his wrist before it could touch. "Not the face," he said firmly.

 

Sid glared at him for a moment then, sneering, stubbed the cigarette out on his own cheek and flicked the butt away. His face was still twisted with dislike as he cut off the remains of Spike's t-shirt, gestures tight and restrained.

 

"Hey." Spike tried to run his fingers down Sid's face but the other man jerked his head away. Resigned, Spike let his arm drop back down to his side.

 

Sid's mouth was set into a sulky line as he sat back to study Spike. After a few moments, it slid into a snidely triumphant grin and, with one hard slash of the razor, he sliced a single deep line down the centre of Spike's chest.

 

Spike surged upwards but the razor was at his throat before he could get free and, faced with the possibility of beheading, he had no choice but to lie back down, eyes fixed on Sid's now emotionless face.

 

The initial sharp pain was fading into a dull ache. Spike imagined he could feel the cut already beginning to heal as blood oozed lazily from his chest. Sid kept the blade pressed lightly against Spike's throat as he gave the wound a single, heavy swipe with his tongue. There was blood on his chin as he sat back and took the razor away.

 

"Cuffs?" he asked conversationally.

 

Spike found he was actually considering it for a moment and jerked his head in a quick negative. Sid shrugged and casually swiped the razor down Spike's chest again, parallel and to the right of the first.

 

Spike bit his lower lip and forced himself to stay still, breathing deeply as the pain bit into him.

 

Sid put his head on one side and studied the effect. Then he grinned and added another couple of slashes to the right-hand cut. Spike didn't need to see them to know they formed a haphazard 'D'. Three more slashes to the left and he was branded.

 

How temporary it was, only Spike knew. A human would be scarred for months, maybe years. For a vampire, a matter of days. But the point was the here and now, not a year down the line.

 

Sid's tongue soothed the cuts, kept the blood from spilling on to sheets which had already seen worse.

 

Spike gave up fighting the pain and instead wallowed in it, inviting it to sear his senses and fill his brain. He reached up and gripped the headboard as Sid's teeth closed over his nipple and his eyes slid shut, leaving him in a dark world of sensation.

 

The bed squeaked as Sid moved but it barely even penetrated Spike's mind. He was focused on the feelings, the soft movements of Sid's tongue parting the cuts and pushing them together; Sid's weight on his thighs; the occasional thump of Sid's padlock against his stomach; Sid's leather cuff pressing into his shoulder on one side, the razor's handle on the other.

 

And, beneath it all, his own erection straining at his jeans.

 

As Sid moved down Spike's body, now licking at the dried blood from the first cut across Spike's stomach, the padlock bumped against Spike's groin and he gasped.

 

Sid stopped his ministrations and, after a moment, Spike heard him chuckle as he rested his cheek on Spike's erection.

 

The pressure was sweet and Spike bucked up instinctively. He tightened his grip on the headboard, hearing the flimsy wood crack under his hands, as Sid fumbled with Spike's belt and the buttons of his jeans and he almost regretted the button flies.

 

"Shit," Sid muttered, fingers slipping yet again on the stiff fastenings.

 

Spike reached down to help but his hand was batted away and he was left writhing with frustration as Sid's hands dealt out cruelly accidental, haphazard caresses. "Please," he whispered, but if Sid heard, he didn't reply.

 

What had been a nagging desire was growing more urgent by the second and the wood of the headboard splintered further as Spike took out his frustration on it. His head thrashed on the pillow when Sid planted a wet kiss in the unfastened V of his jeans, too high up to come close to satisfying Spike's needs but just low enough to torment him.

 

And it was delicious to know that it was his own restraint that kept him from ripping his jeans open and taking Sid by sheer force. He was doing this to himself. Driving himself insane with desire. He groaned.

 

"Shhh..." A sibilant whisper against sweating flesh.

 

Spike wriggled his hips, trying desperately to bring himself into contact with some part of Sid, with anything that would alleviate this hellish ecstasy. But Sid's weight stayed heavy on his thighs and he didn't want to win the fight so he didn't try too hard.

 

But finally the buttons were unfastened and Sid's weight was gone as he pulled Spike's jeans down. Spike lifted his hips to help and soon, not soon enough, he lay naked on the bed.

 

Sid was straddling his thighs again, the roughness of his jeans aphrodisiac against Spike's naked skin, and Spike couldn't stay still, couldn't fight the urge to press up against Sid, praying to a god who abandoned him long ago that Sid would bring this exquisite torture to an end, force him into an ecstatic surrender.

 

But Sid did nothing but watch and Spike was left to cling to the headboard, drowning in a sea of insanity, clutching at a straw of unwanted escape.

 

He needed to be touched. He didn't care if it was soft or hard; hand, mouth or blade; he needed to be touched.

 

And finally, just as he thought this was eternity, Sid took his erection in his mouth.

 

A sweet explosion.

 

Spike's hips surged upwards and it was all he could do to keep his hands on the headboard, keep them away from the tempting mass of Sid's hair, the urge to control the other man's movements. His face contorted as he struggled to hold on to himself, to keep himself whole as Sid's mouth played over his flesh. One moment wet and warm, engulfing him completely; then gone and just a brief tease of tongue along his dick; then soft, caressing nibbles; one hand cupping his balls; the other giving hard, delicious strokes.

 

"No!" He didn't know if it was a scream or a whisper when Sid pulled away and looked up at him.

 

"Fuck me." So normal. Sid might as well have been asking for the ketchup.

 

Spike stared at him in incomprehension.

 

"Fuck me," Sid repeated.

 

Tentatively, Spike pulled his hands from the ruin of the headboard and rested them on Sid's shoulders. Warm. Damp.

 

Spike swallowed. His eyes connected with Sid's and he flinched from the loneliness he saw there. And he found he was pulling Sid towards him, cradling his pliant body as he kissed that wanton, pleading mouth.

 

He was just a kid, Spike realised. Too young for this. He should have been working in a shop somewhere. Should have been making obscure parts for obscure products in an obscure factory. Shouldn't be buried in the depths of America with nobody to care for him, playing games he didn't - couldn't - understand.

 

And damn it, Spike didn't want that. He didn't want to be forced to the edge of surrender then pulled back to accept somebody else's white flag. He wanted to give in.

 

But Spike was strangely gentle as he manoeuvred the limp figure beneath him, undid that stupidly aggressive belt, unfastened grubby jeans with sure, deft fingers to expose flesh that was already hard again. Every move watched by brilliant, silent eyes.

 

Then Sid was naked and Spike was tracing the lines of old scars with his tongue, absorbing the sweat that coated Sid's skin. "Shhh," he whispered as the kid started to shake beneath him.

 

But Sid was wriggling away from him, groping on the floor, and he emerged with a pair of solid handcuffs that he held out to Spike.

 

There was nowhere to cuff him to but he seemed happy enough with just the cold weight of the steel on his wrists, stretched above his head.

 

He lay still as Spike ran exploring hands over his body - nothing but a collection of sharp bones and bruised and scarred skin. With his fingernail, Spike carved his own name into Sid's chest. Did Sid have somebody back home in Britain who would wonder who 'Spike' was? It didn't matter. For tonight, Sid was his. His to do with as he pleased.

 

It was a heady, uncomfortable feeling and he was unbalanced by the sudden change. So, he cut lightly at first, barely more than a scratch, but when Sid pressed upwards, he increased the pressure until blood was rolling down Sid's chest.

 

Spike ignored it as he settled himself between Sid's thighs and closed his mouth on Sid's collarbone.

 

His.

 

His very own wreck of humanity to play with, to leave scarred and emotionless.

 

It lost all its savour when life had beaten him to it.

 

Instead, he'd leave Sid scarred with pleasure. Leave him constantly seeking to recreate the one night of his miserable existence that stood out in colour - the rich red of blood, the deep purple of bruising, the freezing whiteness of flesh and teeth, the searing, multi-coloured explosion of unrestrained ecstasy. Oh yes. That would be a triumph.

 

So he explored Sid's body; enjoying his silence; enjoying the little gasps and moans that forced their way through his gritted teeth.

 

Sid didn't want pleasure.

 

He was fucking well getting it.

 

He was moaning constantly now, his head rocking from side to side as he avoided Spike's gaze. Irritated, Spike caught Sid's face in his hand and held him in place. For a sharp moment he remembered a night in Manchester a year and a half ago - John in his hands glaring back at him with arrogance, instead of this broken boy.

 

Suddenly, he was angry at John. He was the confident one, the leader. How could he let Sid get this way?

 

And then he was angry at himself for even bloody well caring. One body much like another; one torture much like another. So he kissed Sid and the boy kissed back, desperate and welcoming and so, so eager that it was bloody pathetic. Changed so easily from inflicting pain to seeking it to begging for pleasure.

 

And Spike wanted to be angry at Sid but the stupid boy just provoked pity. With a weary sigh, Spike devoted himself to pleasure.

 

Movements just the right combination of strength and gentleness. Imaginative but unthreatening. Safe, he practically crooned. You're safe with me. Trust me. Relax. Give yourself to me.

 

Which was stupid because Sid had already done that.

 

There was lube in the battered chest of drawers beside the bed. Spike had expected it. But first he buried his face in Sid's groin. Wiry hair prickling his face, the discomfort welcomed as he swallowed Sid deep.

 

The boy lay still, too surprised and grateful to risk dislodging Spike. When he came, he simply wrapped his hands in the sheets and gasped.

 

There would have been more reaction from a dead man. Spike wiped a bitter smile from his face along with the semen. There had been. Frequently. Angel was not a man to take his pleasure passively.

 

But now Sid stared at him with wide, worshipful eyes. Innocent. Looking so bloody innocent when only an hour before he had been the one taking control.

 

Spike didn't want to be in control. He wanted to hand that over to somebody else but, as always, there was nobody else to take it.

 

So he spread the lube over his dick, settled Sid and showed the boy and himself what sex could be.

 

Was this what they'd both been waiting for? So slow, so sweet, so careful. It could almost be described as loving if they'd known each other, if they'd given a flying fuck about each other.

 

But it was good. It was good to watch Sid melting under him; watch a genuine smile cross that cynical, battered face. Good to feel Sid's fingers resting on his cheekbone, running through his hair, cupping his neck. Good to hear the soft gasps and moans as Sid moved gently with him. Good to sink into the welcoming depths of orgasm with Sid's mouth on his.

 

And the sweaty, sticky mess afterwards? Well, to be expected. There was a washbasin and Spike wiped the worst from his body before pulling his jeans on. His t-shirt was beyond recovery but he still had the coat he'd got in New York a few weeks earlier, so he pulled it closed.

 

Sid still lay on the bed, his eyes slowly slipping shut. Spike gazed down at him for a moment, then softly swiped a strand of hair off his forehead. "See you around, kid."

 

There was no response. Sid was asleep.

 

A little over a year later, he would be found dead of a massive heroin overdose while on bail for the murder of his girlfriend.

 

When Spike read the news, he got drunk.


End file.
